A Nightmare on Elm Street: Circle of Death

Chapter 8: A Rising Star Fades

Felicity rounded a corner at top speed and slammed into a vending machine full of school supplies. Momentarily disorientated, she leaned against the boxy appliance briefly before peeking around the corner to see if she was being followed.

The moon-bathed hallway was empty, and the only sound she could hear was the faint sounds of the nearby party. Felicity noted the dent she just put in the side of the vending machine as she stepped away from it. She imagined she should be in pain after hitting it as hard as she had, but she wasn't in any discomfort at all.

Thinking about pain made her remember what just happened, and she quickly moved into the light shining down from a small window near the ceiling. After shrugging off her denim jacket, she slowly pulled up the hem of her shirt and looked down at her stomach.

Her skin looked paler than usual in the dimness, and the moonlight cast faint shadows that made her abs looked more defined than they really were. There were no sign of any marks of any kind, to her relief. Feeling silly for having worried in the first place, Felicity quickly put her shirt back in place and pulled her jacket back on.

It was just a trick, and she had let herself be fooled by it. She knew there were specialty stores that sold all sorts of weird stuff, like the contraptions they used for spurting fake blood in the movies. The big dork probably had something like that hidden under his shirt, and the weird weapon he was wearing was probably blunt and retractable.

She was positive about the last part, since she had clearly watched the blades disappear until his fingertips pressed against her midsection. Though at the time she could swear she felt the blades inside her body, poking at her innards. She couldn't remember any pain, however, so she decided her brief moment of fear had caused her to imagine it. It was the only explanation; her stomach was completely fine.

What she couldn't account for were the four slender holes in the middle of her shirt.

Felicity gave herself a shake and pushed the incident from her mind. There was no reason to dwell on the shenanigans of some immature high school student. Before he showed up she had been thinking about home, and that was exactly where she was going to go.

As she was turning in the direction of the nearest exit, another loud burst of laughter sounded from the party, wherever it was. It was less severe than last time, but the sudden wave of fear made Felicity stop in her tracks.

"Great, this again," she muttered.

She had no idea why the sounds of people having a good time triggered such a response, but she was in no mood to try and figure it out. If going closer to the party gave her the willies, she was going to go the other way, simple as that.

With that decided, Felicity backtracked a few feet and started down a hall that went to the right. As she walked with brisk, deliberate steps, the laughter floated up behind as if mocking her retreat. Felicity slowed to a halt as an image flickered through her mind.

She saw a ring of faces surrounding her, faces she knew all too well. The artistic black-haired beauty, Rowena Madison; resident goofball Aaron Stevens; basketball star and heart-throb, Craig Tyler; and Kelly Anderson, the prettiest and most popular girl in school. They were standing in a circle around her, and they were all laughing at her.

The vision jerked and spun in Felicity's mind, like she was trying to break free from the group and run away. Like she was watching the scene through her own eyes, with no control over what was happening.

The image faded, and Felicity stood shivering for a moment. She couldn't be sure if what she just saw was from her own memory or if she was going completely out of her mind.

"Gotta go home," she murmured, jerking her feet into motion. Half-walking, half-running, she turned and started down the stairs that led to the ground floor. "Gotta go home," she repeated. "Gotta go home and--"

Felicity jerked back and fell against the hard linoleum steps. She lay still for a moment, watching the stars dance around her head while she clutched her throbbing face. "Ouch..."

Clearly, whatever force she had collided with a few minutes ago was not wholly unique. Felicity shook her head to clear it, grabbed onto the railing and pulled herself back to her feet. Whatever she had smacked into was as invisible as before, but she was convinced it existed now and didn't go feeling the air this time.

Instead she folded her arms and glared at the seemingly open space, wondering just how many spots in the school were barricaded.

"Wondering just how I went completely off my nut would probably be a more important idea to ponder about now," she grumbled to herself.

Scowling, Felicity leaned forward slightly and squinted, but it didn't change anything. There just wasn't anything there to see, but as she stood staring at the empty air, she slowly noticed that there was something to hear.

It was so faint she could barely detect it, but there was a light hum coming from a spot about a foot in front of her. She moved back a little to make sure the sound wasn't coming from another place, but there wasn't anything else around that was making noise. Felicity leaned closer again and noted there was a slight buzz underneath the hum, but it didn't sound like any form of electricity she had ever heard.

Whatever it was, she had to figure out a way around it.

With another grumble and another question about her own sanity, Felicity headed back up the stairs. A muffled crescendo of shouts from behind her told her that she had mistakenly been going closer to the party, not away from it. She paused to see if the same wave of fear would hit her, but it didn't.

Instead, she thought she felt the emotion the laughter carried with it; joy. It didn't come from inside of her, it was more like it came to her, as if it were rippling through the air like leaves carried on a current of water.

The feeling faded even quicker than it had come, leaving Felicity wondering if she had imagined the entire thing.

Almost like it was answering her silent question, a new emotion fired up and hit her so hard it left her staggering. Felicity clutched her fluttering stomach and wondered if her strange fear was back with a vengeance, but no; as crazy as it seemed, the powerful emotion was not her own.

As if the feeling were a radio wave and she were a receiver, she was picking up an emotion from another person. And that person was experiencing raw, unbridled terror.


Craig knew that Kelly had to be sad and disappointed right now, but he just couldn't help it. There were times when the anger, confusion, and the overwhelming uncertainty became unbearable, and this was one of those times. And as disappointed as his girlfriend was, he knew that it was his mother who would be the most upset if she knew...but Craig tried not to think about that as he pulled a small bottle from his jacket pocket and took a long drink.

Craig tried not to think about anything at all as he drained the bottle with a speed that made his head swim and spots dance in front of his eyes. As he leaned back against the cold metal of the bleacher he was sitting on, his eyes wandered across the polished floor in front of him, until they inevitably rested on the basketball hoop attached to the far wall.

Craig had despised the contraption his entire life, but that night he found himself thinking that it was the most vile thing ever created. Slumped against the bleacher, Craig started muttering under his breath, cursing whoever had invented it, the sport of basketball itself, and sports in general. But mostly he cursed his father, whom he wished was dead and buried so he could finally be free.

One of the doors of the court suddenly banged open with enough force to shake the school's foundation. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" a male voice roared.

Craig was so startled he nearly slipped and fell between the spaces between the bleachers. He held onto the edge with his free hand as he stared in stunned disbelief at the person standing in the doorway. A dirty yellow light was shining into the room, illuminating the figure in an almost ghoulish way.

"Dad?" choked Craig. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing?" Mr. Tyler asked acidly. "I think what you're doing is a much more important issue right now. I've spent almost half my life making you what you are, and this is how you repay me? By turning into a drunk, just like your mother?"

Craig leaped to his feet and squeezed the neck of the bottle with all his might as he fought back the urge to throw it at his father's head. "You take that back," he hollered, not caring who else heard. "You've done nothing but tell lies about her since the day she divorced you, and I'm sick of hearing them!"

"Hey, the truth hurts," his father declared, almost snickering as he spoke.

Craig couldn't believe it. His father had never been kind, but he had never deliberately tried to be cruel before. He tightened his grip on the bottle again. "She was a better parent than you'll ever be," he hissed. "Not to mention a better person."

"A mindless whore who got what she deserved," his father said mildly.

Craig felt a pop inside him, like someone just set off in his gut enough fireworks to shame the local 4th of July display. The bottle flew from his hand like a rocket and struck his father squarely in the nose.

Unable to believe what he had just done, Craig's brief moment of rage dissolved in a hurry as he watched, mouth agape, as his father stumbled back a step and covered his injured nose with his hand.

"I'm impressed," his father exclaimed, in a voice that was many times deeper than the one he normally used. "I didn't think a wimpy little pup like you had the guts."

Craig continued to stare as the horror of what he had just done grew. The bottle wasn't large, but it was made of glass, and more than heavy enough to break something like a nose if thrown hard enough. Craig expected blood to start pouring down his father's face at any second.

Instead, his father's face suddenly changed, turning darker than its usual sallow color, and twisting into what looked like severe burn scars.

For an instant Craig was convinced he had just gone completely out of his mind and nearly ran from the room screaming, but something about the horrid figure sparked a flicker of recognition. Something about the worn hat, and the striped sweater...

That wasn't his father, it was his history report. Fred Krueger.

Craig nearly laughed in relief. He must have drunk himself to sleep, and that meant his father was still at home, unharmed. Other than the inevitable headache, everything would be fine when he woke up again.

"That's funny," Craig chuckled, mostly to himself. "I was just thinking about you."

Freddy was tapping the side of his arm, one finger at a time, a lot like his father did when he was getting impatient about something—which was often. Only they weren't fingers...they were four slender blades.

"I'm an odd thing to be on someone's mind," he commented, sounding amused.

Craig shrugged. "I was thinking when I first got here that it would be a lot more fun if you showed up. School parties are just...lame."

Freddy tapped his arm again. "So you're the one responsible for my little jump start here tonight...allow me to repay you."

His right hand darted out and Craig felt a jolt in his stomach, followed by a fiery pain that ran from one side of his midsection to the other. A feeling that was wet and warm started running down his pant legs. Stunned and shaking from the sudden attack, Craig looked down slowly.

"Oh God..."

It's just a dream, he told himself as he watched his guts coil around his feet like snakes. Just a dream...

"The last one you'll ever have."

Amidst the terror that clutched his heart, Craig again told himself that it was only a dream--a really bad one--but still just a dream. He clutched at his torn stomach and prayed to wake up. Freddy chuckled as he grabbed hold of his shirt and hoisted him over his head like he weighed less than Kelly.

"And now you'll know what a basketball feels like," he said, with laughter in his voice.

The last thing Craig saw was the back of the basketball hoop, right before his head was smashed through it. And then Craig Tyler no longer had to worry about his father, his future, or anything at all.